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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962208">The Lannisters’ Hostages</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie'>kitkatkaylie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Cultural Differences, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Robb Stark Lives, Traditions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:06:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a neat solution, Tywin Lannister thinks, to tie his two hostages together. A way to ensure his control of the Iron Islands and the North; to wed his Stark hostage to his cowed Greyjoy hostage.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Robb Stark &amp; Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>245</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Wedding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So this was sparked by a conversation with the delightful @robbeonsa as a what if Theon had been hostage of the Lannisters instead of the Starks.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We did think to have you marry my brother, The Imp, but, we reasoned, it was too harsh a sentence even for a traitor’s daughter like you.”</p><p>Sansa swallowed harshly and forced the words she knew Cersei wanted to hear from her lips. </p><p>“Your Grace is too kind. Who then- who is to be my husband?”</p><p>If the smile on Cersei’s face was anything to go by, Sansa would not like her answer.</p><p>“Why, none other than the Ward of Casterly Rock, Little dove.” Cersei said in a sickly sweet voice, “Theon Greyjoy, the Heir to the Iron Islands and my own fathers ward.”</p><p>His prisoner, she meant. The whole of the Seven Kingdoms knew that the youngest and last Greyjoy son was a prisoner of Lord Tywin’s to ensure his father’s good behaviour. </p><p>Sansa had grown up with tales of the brutality of the Ironborn, stories of how they reaved and raped their way across the North until finally being expelled by one of Sansa’s own ancestors. She dreaded to think of how cruel and brutal and Ironborn raised by Tywin Lannister would be. </p><p>“I see you recognise that name.” Cersei gripped her chin with sharp nails, “But then, your family has history with the Greyjoy’s does it not? I do believe it was your own traitor father himself who killed Little Theon’s brother.”</p><p>Sansa was doomed then. Her future husband would surely not look upon her or her family favourably after the actions her father took during the Ironborn rebellion. </p><p>She would not give Cersei the satisfaction of voicing her fear though.</p><p>“Thank you, Your Grace, for making a match worthy of me.” Sansa said instead, her voice void of any inflection.</p><p>“You are most welcome, little dove.” Cersei said, her hand releasing Sansa’s chin to pat mockingly at her cheek instead, “Just think, by this time tomorrow you’ll be the wedded and bedded Lady Greyjoy - you should pray you come to a better end than the last one.”</p><p>There was something in Cersei’s voice that made Sansa think she wanted her to meet the same fate as the last Lady Greyjoy. Sansa did not know what that fate was, only that it was surely terrible to inspire such glee.</p><p>“Come now,” Cersei said after pinning a final curl back, “Your groom awaits, and remember what I said, you may either walk to your wedding with your dignity intact, or I shall have Ser Boros drag you there kicking and screaming.”</p><p>Sansa held her head high. She was a Stark of Winterfell. She could be as brave as Robb and as strong as her lady mother.  She would keep her dignity intact.</p><p>Ser Boros looked almost disappointed by her resolve, like he wanted the chance to drag her to the Sept, like he wanted the excuse to grope her beneath her dress again, the way he had when he had torn her gown off and thrown her to the floor on Joffrey’s orders.</p><p>The Kingsguard accompanied her to the Sept, something the smallfolk and court likely thought an honour, but Sansa knew otherwise. They were there to keep her from trying to run, there to keep her from begging sanctuary in one of the smaller Septs that were dotted around the city. </p><p>She had thought of doing that once or twice, had thought of running and claiming sanctuary there, but she feared what Joffrey would do to those who shielded her too much to attempt it.</p><p>Besides, Sansa was a Stark. Her father had never run away from a battle, and neither would she. </p><p>Joffrey himself met her at the entrance to the Sept, his eyes cruelly glittering in the harsh sunlight. </p><p>“My lady,” He bowed, his eyes never leaving her breasts, “I shall play the part of your father today.”</p><p>Sansa wanted to scream at him, to swear that he was not her father, that her father had been a good man, a kind man, that he had been everything Joffrey was not. She did not scream or yell or cry though, she would not give the Lannisters the satisfaction.</p><p>No, instead she took the hand which he offered, she held her head up high, and she ignored the weight of the cloak upon her back.</p><p>She was a Stark of Winterfell and she would be brave. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Theon did not want to marry. He especially did not want to marry another hostage, the daughter of the man who had killed his brother. But he had no choice.</p><p>The very first lesson he had learnt at Casterly Rock was that whatever Tywin Lannister ordered, Tywin Lannister got.</p><p>He had been ordered to marry the Stark girl, and so that is what he would do. Even if his marriage was to take place in sight of gods he did not believe in, gods he was sure his soon to be wife did not worship either. No matter, when he returned home they could marry properly before the Drowned God, and if Sansa Stark wanted he would take her to the Godswood himself and marry her again there, just the two of them (he knew what it was like to be denied your faith, and would not wish that upon anyone).</p><p>It was a tidy way to solve Tywin Lannister’s hostage problem, he supposed, a way to put even more pressure upon their families through any children that might resort from their union. </p><p>He stood at the alter of the Sept, bathed in the light of stained glass, his clothing suitably elaborate for such an occasion, even if the golden embroidery looked a little like lions at the right angle. He was used to such indignities, used to being forever reminded of who his captors were.</p><p>The great doors opened, to reveal two slight figures, a girl with bright red hair, and that little twat Joffrey.</p><p>The girl was beautiful, he could tell that even from a distance, and as she walked towards him a sort of respect began to grow for her. Joffrey was clutching at her arm, in a grip that looked almost bruising, and every so often he would whisper into her ear with a giggle, but her face never left its placid expression. </p><p>Other than her expression she looked every bit the bride, her hair twisted elaborately, her gown of silver lace and white satin, her fur lined maiden’s cloak over her shoulders. Were this under any other circumstances he would have counted himself lucky indeed to have such a lady promised to him.</p><p>When she was finally stood by his side, any illusion of a consenting bride was broken, her eyes alternated between containing pure rage and a dead, lifeless gaze.</p><p>He took her hand in his own, her cold, thin hand, and resisted the urge to offer her a word of comfort. It was sure to be picked up on by the rest of the Sept, and it would not do to have anyone think he was protective of the girl before he could do anything to actually protect her.</p><p>He did not hear the words the Septon spoke, not really, he just said what he was told to and parroted meaningless words from a religion that meant nothing to him. </p><p>“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” He had been listening out for those words among the drivel of the rest of the ceremony, anxious to draw the girl away from Joffrey.</p><p>Almost as soon as her cloak fell from her narrow shoulders so Theon swung the heavy black velvet of his own over them. He had not missed the way that Joffrey had groped at her breasts while unclasping the cloak, and his eyes narrowed at the thought of someone taking liberties with his bride. </p><p>She was his now, and even if he did not want her, even if he did not want to be used as a punishment, he still protected his things. </p><p>He knew the next part of the ceremony, and from the fear which filled his bride’s eyes, so did she.</p><p>“With this kiss, I pledge my love.” Theon said, trying to convey reassurance to the scared girl before him using his eyes. He did not think it worked.</p><p>Carefully and gently he pressed his lips against hers. She was trembling ever so slightly, although whether it was fear or anger causing it he also did not know. Theon made the kiss as short as he could get away with, unwilling to force his touch upon his bride for any longer than completely necessary. </p><p>His gaze fell upon the crowd as they applauded, seeking out one of the few people whose respect he craved. But Tywin Lannister’s expression was as cold as ever. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The food was like ash in Sansa’s mouth. Tasteless and dry, she had to choke it down.</p><p>It did not appear to be that way for everyone else, no, the rest of the court seemed happy to feast and drink and laugh. Laughter Sansa was sure was at least in part at her expense. </p><p>By her side her new husband drank and drank and drank; goblet after goblet of wine tipped down his throat. She wanted to join him, but was so very fearful of what might happen, of what might slip from her mouth should her defences be lowered by drink. </p><p>It was not the feast she had dreamed of as a little girl; there were no towers of lemon cakes, no blackberry tarts as Robb and Mother had loved; no Northern stews or Riverlands fish. Instead there was simply the strangely spiced food of the Crownlands and the rich food of the Westerlands.</p><p>There was no fare from the Iron Islands either, and although Sansa was scared of her husband, such a thing made her sad. It was sad that neither of them could have the wedding typical of their people instead of this farce put together by the Lannisters.</p><p>Then again, none of this day had been like she had imagined; she had not been walked to the Heart Tree by her Father before also walking to the Sept; nor had her mother braided her hair and gifted her the strand of pearls worn by all brides with Tully blood.</p><p>Sansa took the final bite of her meat, a piece she logically knew was succulent and juicy, yet still left her mouth dry and tasting only of ash.she would have to dance soon, have to pretend that she did not flinch at the touch of others, have to pretend that her husband did not inspire fear in her. </p><p>She supposed that, at the very least, he was not as bad as Joffrey. At least she would not have to pretend to be happy with the boy who killed her father just to see her scream. And for all he was a Lannister Ward, at least he did not carry Lannister blood.</p><p>The music started, and Sansa swallowed harshly. She could do this. She could be brave.</p><p>“It’s time for the dancing, is it not?” Joffrey’s sneering voice rang out through the room.</p><p>Sansa’s husband scraped back his chair and offered her a hand, “I’m sure you heard the king. Dance with me, little wife.”</p><p>Sansa had no choice. She placed her hand in his and let herself be led to the dance floor. At least it was Florian and Jonquil that was playing, a song she could lose herself in the lyrics and beat of.</p><p>She knew Joffrey had likely meant it as an insult, one to taint her love of that song; but her new husband was not groping at her nor whispering lewd things, and if she imagined hard enough she might have been in Winterfell, twirling around the hall in her brother’s arms. </p><p>It was enough to make a smile touch her lips, the first true one in months. </p><p>The music ended, and so did her smile as she was drawn back to reality. She would have to dance with others, have to dance with Joffrey and endure his comments and groping </p><p>“Stay strong, my lady.” Her new husband bowed over her hand as he was forced to relinquish her to a new partner, “You only have to dance with him once.”</p><p>His voice was pleasant, there was the very hint of an accent to his words, like he had once had one but it had been sanded away by time. A process she was sure was already happening to her own Northern accent, for every so often she found that she lapsed into the accent of the Westerlands, the one she had tried so hard to learn to please Cersei and Joffrey. </p><p>It was a cruel hand that took hold of her next, a punishing grip which made every defence raise higher than before. </p><p>“I’m sure you think you are safe now, as Lady Greyjoy.” Joffrey breathed his foul breath into her ear. “But you are wrong.”</p><p>Sansa swallowed and looked blankly over the king’s shoulder. “I don’t think anything at all, Your Grace.”</p><p>Joffrey pulled her closer, so she was flush against his body. His hand slid down her back so it was atop her rear, and his other held her own hand so tight she was fearful that she would lose all feeling in her fingers.</p><p>“You don’t, do you?” He sneered, “Your husband cannot protect you though, he is beholden to Lannister commands, beholden to the demands of his king, if I order it you will be delivered to my bed with narry a protest.”</p><p>The thought of such a thing filled Sansa with nausea, she had thought she was free of Joffrey with this marriage, had hoped she might no longer have to suffer his attentions. She had been so stupid. </p><p>“Speaking of which,” His mouth puckered with an awful delight, “I am bored with the dancing now. I do believe it is time for the bedding!”</p><p>He shouted the last words, ones to which the court responded with a terrible joy. The men started to surge on her, greed and lust evident in their eyes. </p><p>Sansa had dreaded this moment for months, had dreaded the thought of the liberties these men would take ever since her father had been arrested and she had been left without a protector. </p><p>“I need no aid in bedding my wife;” Her husband jeered, appearing over her shoulder, “It is what we Ironborn are good at, is it not?”</p><p>Sansa’s heart did not thaw from the grip of its freezing fear, and her trembling started anew. She had dreaded such a thing for the entire day, and now it was upon her, now there was no hope of escape.</p><p>She would be brave though, brave like Robb.</p><p>An arm wrapped around her, much to the delight of the Court, and she found herself flung over her husband’s shoulder. His hand rested upon the small of her back, but Sansa knew that if not for the bulk of her skirts it would likely rest upon her rear.</p><p>Whistles and jeers and the most inappropriate comments followed them as she was carried out of the hall. It was not unpleasant upon her husband’s shoulder, for he took care not to jolt her as he walked and there was no slipping of his hand to lay upon her chest or rear, as she might have expected from any other man. </p><p>In fact, other than the remark he made upon calls for the bedding; Theon Greyjoy had been the perfect gentleman. An achievement indeed, for no other member of the court (save mayhaps Loras Tyrell) could claim such a thing. </p><p>She was carried all the way up to a chamber that she did not recognise, one with a carved bow upon the wall and a chest which Sansa recognised from her own rooms. It was to be her marriage chamber then. The room in which she was to become a wife in true. </p><p>A strange sort of calm settled upon Sansa, the same sort of calm she had always imagined her brothers and father felt before a fight. She could be brave and strong, she was a Stark of Winterfell and no fear would prevent her from doing her duty.</p><p>Slowly, carefully, she moved to the dressing table and started to remove the pins which held her hair up in its elaborate twists. She would surely regret it should she not remove the pins before entering the bed. </p><p>Her dress was next. The heavy outer gown was not too difficult to unlace. It fell to the floor in a pile of brocade and lace. A pile of gold dragons which could have fed an orphanage for at least a month.</p><p>Her stays and the padding which held up her skirt were next, those were easy to unlace now, in a way they had never been before she was a traitor’s daughter. Perhaps she would be able to unlearn those skills again, perhaps she would now be granted a maid of her own who did not pull her hair and taunt her now that she was a wife. It was a glint of hope and goodness in a terrible situation, and one she had grabbed hold of to aid her with getting through the day. </p><p>And then she was left in just her chemise, the thin linen the only thing between her skin and the air of the room. The only thing between her and her new husband. </p><p>She looked at her husband then, looked at the man who had just carried her from the hall, and suddenly the day was too much to bear.</p><p>Sansa wrapped her arms around herself and cried. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Bedding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Theon had dreaded the bedding ceremony; had dreaded the thought of being pawed at by drunken matrons, the same matrons who made lewd insinuations to him, who wanted him as a spot of fun while their husbands were away; but he would have endured it if it wasn’t for the terror in his new wife’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had seen just how the little twat of a king had been pawing at her, had seen the way she blanched when he whispered something undoubtedly foul in her ear; and while he was unable to do something about the little turd he could at least save her from the indignity and trauma of the bedding ceremony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need no aid in bedding my wife,” He called out, moving with long strides towards her frozen form, “It is what we Ironborn are good at, is it not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Play on their preconceptions; they all thought his people were brutes, he could use that to his advantage. Tywin had not taught him to do so, but he had learnt from him anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon had learnt a lot from Tywin which the lord had not meant to teach him. But then, the Lord of Lannister would have been happy to have him cowed and utterly unable to function without his input.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He carefully, gently, lifted Sansa up so she was laid over his shoulder, the same way that his people always carried off women in the images and depictions of the greenlands. It was not something he had ever seen personally, but again he was trying to use the court’s idea of and love of ‘scandalous’ behaviour against them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made sure to ensure that her head would not bounce painfully, that she would not be jolted by his movement, and that his hand did not move from the safety of the small of her back. He would not start this marriage by groping her as so many others had done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with the weight of her dress, she was far too light. With her height and the heavy material of her dress he had expected to stagger as he moved, only it was far too easy. He wondered how long it had been since she had enjoyed a meal, whether it had been since her father’s arrest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon had not eaten properly for years after being torn from his mother’s arms. The food had been strange and fear and grief had dampened his appetite. It had not been until Lord Tywin’s sister had visited, bringing with her salt fish and cockles, that Theon had felt the first true pangs of hunger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he would be able to find that food which would spark her appetite back. It would be a small gesture, but one which would allow him to feel like he truly could provide for her as a husband should. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they reached his chambers, the ones they would now share as man and wife, his little wife had stilled her trembling. A sort of resolve had overtaken her, an expression upon her features similar to the one Theon had seen on men before a battle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would not take an unwilling girl, not one who had been traumatised and threatened by the family who held Theon hostage; and especially not when she seemed to view the bedchamber the same way soldiers viewed their first battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She started to undress and Theon turned his back, he refused to stare at her with lust, to invade her privacy in the same way which so many of the court had done. No maid came to aid her, and it was on the tip of his tongue to offfer assistance with the heavy dress and elaborate hairstyle, but she would surely think he was invading her space and using it as an excuse to grope her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If she was there willingly then he likely would have, but she was very obviously not there of her own accord and so he would be the perfect gentleman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mother had taught him how, one afternoon when his brothers and father were out on the ships, she had taught him manners and courtesies that she remembered from her youth and how to be a good and kind husband. He’d never had much use for those lessons before, but he could still remember them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He busied himself instead by finding a night shirt and loose training breeches. More clothing than he would usually wear but he did not want to scare his terrified little wife any further with any accidental touch of his bare skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he turned back around his heart broke a little. His wife was stood there, dressed only in her shift and stockings, with tears running down her cheeks and silent sobs racking her body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lady, are you quite well?” Theon asked, as tenderly as he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am fine, my Lord. How do you want me to proceed?” She sniffed and raised her chin, the very picture of bravery in spite of the tears running down her cheek, or perhaps because of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Proceed?” Surely he had not heard this right, surely his little wife did not expect him to fuck her while she wept? He knew some men preferred that, but Theon had never had that taste, he liked his partners to be willing and enthusiastic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might have traitor blood, my parents and brother might be traitors, but I know how to do my duty, my Lord husband. You need not fear.” It was as if there was a rod of steel down her spine so straight was her back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lady, Sansa if I may be so bold as to use your name, I do not doubt that you would do your duty if I so demanded it.” Theon stepped towards her and could not help but notice how she flinched, “But I do not demand it. Should we consummate our vows then I would have it be a joy rather than a duty, something you want rather than fear. Besides, you do not know me and I do not know you, and I would have us more comfortable in each other’s presence before such intimacy is attempted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face took on a bewildered cast, as though the small kindness he was offering was strange indeed, as though she already was unused to such mercy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again rumour around the Red Keep was that she had feared Joffrey would summon her to his bedchamber after her moon blood. He could hardly imagine that fear, it was one thing he had not been threatened with during his time as a hostage although he had been threatened with plenty else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Sansa, I promise I am being honest.” Theon tried to communicate how sincere he was to her, “I will not touch you until you wish me to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And-” Sansa seemed to draw on a hidden kernel of strength, “And if I never want you to touch me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I shall not touch you. We shall merely have a marriage of friendship and nothing more of that is your wish. No matter your choice I will not hurt you, nor will I allow others to hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the slight softening of his little wife’s shoulders there was still distrust in her eyes, a distrust Theon recognised from his own eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so my lord.” It was obvious she did not believe him. Obvious she thought he would go back on his word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would just have to prove her wrong then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is a tradition, my lady, on the Iron Islands, for a rock wife to be given a knife on her wedding day, so that she might defend herself from her husband if she needs to.” Theon said conversationally, he doubted she knew about traditions on the Isles, his time in Casterly Rock had taught him that few cared for such things in the greenlands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rock wife?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon smiled at the timid question, “True wife you might say, it is part of the culture of the Ironborn for a man to take one true or ‘rock’ wife to bear his children and carry on their name, and then to take salt wives with which he might sate his lusts on voyages and raids.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was slightly more complex than that, but Theon doubted she wished to hear about the culture of the Ironborn, even married to one she probably doubted she would ever need to know the information he offered. Everyone knew that Tywin Lannister was more likely to install one of his many nephews on the Islands through marriage to Yara than ever let Theon go home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was likely the same with his little wife, she must know that she would never be allowed back to Winterfell. That it would be held in her name by some Lannister lackey and then passed on to a child who had been raised to the Lannister way of thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crossed to his dresser where a blade waited, one he had had commissioned for Sansa, knowing that no one else would have bothered to even think about this tradition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a pretty thing, with a simple silver hilt etched with waves and snowflakes and the vague impression of wolves. He knew she was not allowed to wear her house sigil, just as he was rarely permitted it, but hopefully this would allow her some comfort and a link to her family. The blade was wickedly sharp and inscribed with her name in a delicate curving script. No one could deny that the blade belonged to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one he had based on vague memories of the blade his mother had owned, the one she had been gifted by his father’s family on their wedding day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He handed it, wrapped up in its leather sheath, over to her with a smile, “I would have you use this if ever you feel threatened by me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took it gingerly, looking at it like she had never seen such a blade before. It sat awkwardly in her hand, and Theon was hit with the realisation that unlike on the islands Sansa had likely never been taught how to defend herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shall arrange for you to have lessons in how to use this blade.” He said gently, “It would be no good if you hurt yourself instead of defended yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thank you, my Lord.” Sansa said softly, her eyes still guarded but slightly less so than before. “It has been a while since I have received a gift.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Theon smiled rakishly, “And who has bestowed gifts upon you? Odes to your beauty I am sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father.” Sansa’s voice shook with suppressed grief, “He was the last to give me a gift.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon could still recall how he had clung to the last gift his mother had given him, how he still had the scraps of that cloak buried at the bottom of a chest. He wondered what she had been given by her father, whether she still had it or whether it had been taken from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still own the last gift from my mother, it is not a weakness to hold onto something which helps you to remember someone you love.” He admitted quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time Sansa showed vulnerability in her posture, her shoulders softened ever so slightly so they no longer looked held up by steel rods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hated the gift at first.” She said softly, “He bought me a doll, a child’s toy, of the type I had not played with for years. I was given a doll in replacement for the wolf he killed, and all I could think when I looked at it was how he did not know me at all. And then they killed him and the doll was one of the few things I had left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon could empathise with that sentiment, that feeling that a parent did not really understand you. His father had always thought him weak, had cursed him and derided him as a mama’s boy. The joke was on him though, Theon would do anything for his mother but probably would have to be convinced to aid his father now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(That was a lie he told himself. He knew that if he was offered even the speck of approval from his father he would crawl to him on his hands and knees. Just as he would if Tywin Lannister offered even a hint of approval.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something tight about the way that his little wife held herself, a brittleness about her like she was containing some great emotion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you ever get the chance to mourn your father, my lady?” He asked tentatively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father was a traitor.” She answered, a rote answer if Theon has ever hurt it, “Traitors do not deserve the dignity of mourning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon’s heart broke anew. To be denied the chance to mourn a loved one was cruelty indeed, one which Theon had not thought the Lannisters capable of despite his own knowledge of their vicious ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone deserves to be mourned.” He disagreed, “It is a cruelty indeed to be denied such a thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet I have been denied it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice was devoid of emotion. Resigned almost, and she flinched away like she expected to be struck for speaking her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon could not help but reach out to her, to draw her into an embrace and offer her comfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was stiff in his arms, rigid in his embrace, but she did not try and move away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will not hurt you Sansa, I swear this by all the gods; the Drowned, the Old and the Seven.” He whispered in her ear, “You can cry and mourn if you wish, these rooms are safe. Nothing here shall be reported to any with Lannister blood, not if I can help it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could almost hear the thoughts swirling around Sansa’s head, her debate on whether to trust him or not. And perhaps she did not trust him yet, but she was surely tired and scared, and that had an impact for she collapsed into his embrace and a sharp sob wracked her shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It might not have been the wedding night which Theon had thought would be his whenever he had imagined it; but he found that he did not mind too much. In fact, he would be quite content to just spend the night comforting his new wife. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As his mother had once said: trust was far more important than lust. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was someone’s arms around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was someone’s arms around her, and what if it was Joffrey, and Sansa absolutely could not scream. If she screamed she might wake them and then they would be angry and would hurt her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could not show anything but apathy. That was safest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa lay as still as she could, her mind trying desperately to catalogue any pain or differences in her body, her whole self hoping against hope she would not find anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And to her surprise the only discomfort she could feel was a swelling around her eyes, the remains of a long cry. But Sansa had not felt safe enough to cry near someone since her father had been arrested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The arms around her shifted, and the owner of them let out a low groan as they awoke. It was the pitch of the groan which helped Sansa to relax ever so slightly, Joffrey’s voice had never been so low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, my lady.” The man she only now recognised through her panic and fear as her husband rasped gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, my lord.” Sansa replied, the wall of courtesies that she had lost the previous evening now fully resurrected. “Did you sleep well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The arms untangled themselves from around her as Lord Theon sat up, “I did, my lady, thank you. I fear I already know your answer to that question though, so I shall not make you speak the comforting lie you undoubtedly wish to tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa stiffened once more, fear flooding through her veins at the thought that her lord husband already knew her so well. That he already knew with a certainty that her pretty little platitudes would be a falsehood and whatever she thought he wished to hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was saved from any attempt to continue the conversation by a sharp knock on the door. It was a knock that had her husband rise to open, although he grumbled all the while. Sansa was gratified to see that there was no need for him to cover himself, for he was dressed in loose clothes which he had obviously slept in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologies milord, for disturbing you. But the King invites you and your wife to break your fast with him this morning.” A footman stood in the doorway, his red and gold livery poking out from behind Sansa’s husband. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well.” Lord Theon sighed, “Tell His Grace that we will be there shortly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good milord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door shut to the sound of footsteps moving down the corridor, and Sansa could see the tiredness in her husband’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’d better get dressed. Don’t want to keep the little cunt and his mother waiting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa could not hide her gasp at his words, never before had she heard Joffrey referred to that way, not even by any of the myriad of others who despised him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not even the Hound had called him that in Sansa’s hearing, although she supposed he likely called him that in private. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you happen to own a dress of grey or white or black, my lady?” He asked while searching through a cabinet which undoubtedly contained his own clothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not my lord. Any gowns I owned in that colour did not please Queen Cersei or King Joffrey so they did not last long. I am afraid I only own gowns in… inoffensive colours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is a shame.” And he did sound sincere in his assessment, “I think those colours would look most fetching on you, and it seems wrong to not allow you to wear your House colours. My mother oft wore the silver of her own House along with the gold of my father’s. I would have you dress in the colours you chose, and to that end I will arrange for a visit to the dress makers for you this coming week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa could not hold in her gasp, it had been so long since she had visited the dress makers for anything other than a begrudging visit arranged by Cersei, or the terror which had been her wedding dress fitting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you my lord. Truly, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had evidently finished choosing his outfit, for her turned to her with a smile, “It is no trouble, my lady. And please, I must insist you call me by my name. We are united against the Lannisters; and married besides, it would be stupid for us to stand on formality around each other. Now, choose either the gown you are most comfortable in, or the one which Joffrey despises the most.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was an easy decision to make, for the dresses were one and the same. Joffrey despised her dark purple gown for the same reason Sansa adored it, for it had a high neckline and long sleeves and allowed her to feel less exposed before the hungry eyes of the court. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a choice met with approval from Theon, one that went very well with his doublet of dark gold, one that he adorned with a short cloak of near the same shade as her gown.  They made a handsome couple, this much was obvious from a glance in the mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of the maids will likely come in with the rest of your belongings while we are out and will unpack for you.” Theon said, as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm to lead her through the corridors. “And I feel like I must warn you, my lady, that the king will do all he can to rile us up this morning. You should try not to let him get under your skin and remember that I will defend you all I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa smiled, it was a brittle smile but a true one, “Please, Theon, call me by my name as well. It may displease Queen Cersei to see us so content with the match she has made.” She ducked her head as he grinned sharply at her, “And you need not warn me about the king, I fear I have been his favourite plaything to torment since the arrest of my father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not any more.” Theon vowed softly. “He will not torment you any more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa wanted to say something more, to say something about how no one can protect anyone, but they had arrived at the entrance to Joffrey’s chambers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a fortifying breath and allowed herself a moment of thanks for the way that her husband did not comment on her fingers tightening on his arm. She did not want to see Joffrey’s smug face, but she had no choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door swung open, revealing an explosion of red and gold, bright enough that it was painful to behold. The scent of fresh bread and bacon wafted out to them; and if not for the company that awaited within, Sansa knew she would be hungry indeed for she had not eaten much at her wedding feast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord and Lady Greyjoy,” Joffrey sneered, “Do take a seat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa curtsied as Theon bowed, “You honour us, Your Grace.” She simpered, the taste of bile already coating the back of her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, don’t I?” Joffrey carelessly surveyed the spread of food before him, enough to feed five families down in Flea Bottom and which would like as not be given to the pigs when Joffrey was done with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Sansa could not help but think that more rioting would be inevitable, even with the food brought by the Tyrells the city was still hungry and still Joffrey wasted mountains of food daily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited until Sansa and Theon had sat down, their places opposite Cersei and Tywin Lannister’s, a smug expression upon all three Lannister faces. They looked so very pleased with the marriage they had wrought, although Sansa knew that none would look quite so pleased if they knew exactly what had taken place the previous evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few blessed minutes there was silence as they ate, but it could not last. Not when Joffrey had brought them there to torment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me, Lord Greyjoy. Did my little Sansa weep and scream as her blood coated your cock? Did she writhe and wail as you took your pleasure in her?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joffrey’s voice rang through the room, a terrible pleasure evident in his tone, and Sansa could feel heat rising in her cheeks at his crude words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lady Sansa had no reason to weep or scream.” Sansa’s husband said with a strangely comforting possessiveness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then you obviously weren’t doing it right!” Joffrey sneered, condescension infused in his every word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Instead of skirting around it, just accept you don’t know what goes on in the marriage bed, Your Grace. I’m sure your mother will be happy to explain it to you later.” Theon said, stabbing the food on his plate carelessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joffrey’s face turned red with anger and humiliation, and Sansa could hardly believe that anyone would stand up for her like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why you-“ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Theon is right.” Lord Tywin interjected, “Of all you know about the marriage bed is that it causes pain, then you do not know anything about it. I will not have you ruin our alliance with the Tyrells because of your ignorance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am the King! If I want my bride to scream then she shall scream!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joffrey sounded more like a petulant toddler than a king, but his words sent a shiver down Sansa’s spine. It was only just sinking in just how lucky an escape she had had; that her golden Prince was as brutal as she had been taught the Ironborn were, and that her Ironborn husband was as gentle as she had been taught her golden Prince would be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are only still a King because I fought to keep that crown on your head, fool boy.” Lord Tywin spat, “And if not for the Tyrells your head would be adorning Stannis Baratheon’s gates. You will not destroy our alliance because you wish to see Margaery Tyrell scream, if you do then your uncle will likely not be the only Kingslayer on the Kingsguard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you threatening me Grandfather?” Joffrey shot to his feet, his face blotchy with rage, “I am your king and that is treason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not threatening you, fool boy, I am warning you. Cease your idiocy or we will find ourselves with a new king on the throne.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cersei stood at that and glared at Lord Tywin, “You can not speak to my son that way Father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you had taught your son better then I would not have to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa could not move as the argument raged, could not bring herself to twitch a single muscle, fearful as she was that the wrath of the Lannisters would be turned on her. A hand found hers beneath the table, and she clung to Theon’s long, calloused fingers in a desperate attempt to gain some comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shocked her, how quickly she found her husband to be a safe place, how quickly she found him to offer her comfort. And yet perhaps it was not so surprising, no one had offered her any comfort since her father had been arrested and she was so starved for comfort that she would attach herself to the first person who was kind to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She supposed she was lucky that Theon did seem to be genuinely kind, that he didn’t seem to be using her for any plot or game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa couldn’t be certain though, and as she sat there, surrounded by bickering Lannisters, she resolved that she would keep an eye out. If there was anything that Theon Greyjoy was plotting, she would be prepared, she would not be taken for a fool ever again. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning for Joffrey being Joffrey in this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I have a gift for you.” Sansa spoke softly, “It’s a Northern Tradition, a little like the knife you gifted me.” </p><p>She held out the spoon she had carved carefully, hesitant of the reaction he would have to it. She knew it was hardly as elaborate as they usually were, knew that the wood it was made from was hardly as carefully selected as they usually were, but then she had been limited in her materials. </p><p>It had been a stroke of luck to find the oak branch in all honesty, Sansa had found it in the Godswood when she went to pray for her family and the faintest possibility of her husband remaining as kind as he had been. </p><p>Her pen knife had not been taken from her, with its blade far too small to do any damage and her well known distaste for violence, so she had been able to use that to fumblingly carve the wooden spoon.</p><p>“I will accept any gift that you see fit to give me, Lady Sansa.” Theon said gravely, “And honour it with the intent that it was given.”</p><p>He took the package that she had wrapped in soft cloth and uncovered it solemnly. She could not read his expression as he looked at the spoon, at its rough edges and unvarnished surface.</p><p>“Did you make this, my lady?” He asked, his gaze not leaving her rough offering.</p><p>Sansa tilted her chin up proudly, “I did.” </p><p>She could take it if he insulted her offering, she could! </p><p>“It is beautiful.” He said softly, “I assume there is some story behind it?”</p><p>It was a story that Sansa knew well, one she had found utterly romantic as a child, and still did to this day.</p><p>“During the Long Night, there was a young prince who fell in love with one of the young ladies who attended his mother. He wanted desperately to marry her, but her mother would not give permission. She thought the prince fickle, even when he showered her daughter with jewels and silver, for jewels and silver had no importance during the Long Night.” </p><p>Sansa flicked her eyes over to Theon, to check whether he was still paying attention, and took in his rapt expression.</p><p>“The prince proved his love for the lady by gifting her one of the most valuable resources they had: wood. Only, he was not content to merely give her a piece of wood, for he felt that it did not show enough of his devotion for her. He carved it, with flowers and hearts and vines to decorate it, and made it a spoon for his love was a practical lady, and he did not want to give her some useless trinket.”</p><p>Theon leaned forwards, gripped on her every word, “And what happened next? Did the mother allow the prince to marry his lady?”</p><p>Sansa smiled, “She did, the prince was allowed to marry her, and they lived happily, the carved spoon forever a symbol of their love. And so men and women started to give their sweethearts a carved spoon, something to show true devotion. Everyone in the North learns at least the basics of wood carving, so that we might complete this tradition for ourselves.” Her voice dropped until it was near a whisper, “The one my father gave my mother hangs above the bed in her chambers, or it used to at least.”</p><p>“That is a lovely tale, my lady.” Theon ran a finger over the carving in his hand, “And I shall honour this gift of yours even more now that I know the history behind it.”</p><p>“Thank you, my lord.” Sansa could feel a pleased heat rise in her cheeks, “It is kind of you to say so.”</p><p>“I am being honest, Sansa, not kind.” He said sincerely, “And I believe that you are owed a lesson in how to use my own gift, are you not?”</p><p>Sansa was unsure as to what he wanted her to say, did he want her to agree with him? Or did he wish for her to gently disagree? It was so difficult to get a read on her husband.</p><p>Theon stood and placed her gift upon the mantle with gentle hands, “Fetch your blade, my lady, and I shall show you the basics in how to use it.”</p><p>Sansa did as she was bid, the blade was kept in her trunk, wrapped up in a silk scarf where it would not be noticed on a cursory search of her belongings.</p><p>The hilt felt surprisingly comfortable in her hand, it fit her well and was not too heavy, not like the wooden ones that Robb had once dared her to use back home.</p><p>Theon ran an appraising eye over her, “You have a good hold already, but-” He reached out and adjusted her fingers slightly, “This should feel more comfortable and be more secure.”</p><p>He was right, the dagger did feel more secure in her grasp.</p><p>“Now-” He stepped away once more, “You should be careful about where you sun with your blade. It is likely you will only have one shot with it if your assailant is larger and better trained that you, and you must not waste it.”</p><p>That made sense, and reminded her of the lesson that Jon had once told her. That she should aim for someone’s weak spot and then run if she had to.</p><p>“The neck is a good, if small target, but one I would only go for if there is no way to miss it. Your best bet is their thigh,” Theon said, pointing to each body part he mentioned, “The inner thigh specifically. There is a large blood vessel there, and if you nick it then they will bleed out in minutes. It is especially useful if someone is pinning you down and trying to rape you.”</p><p>Sansa made careful note of where he said the blood vessel was, she never wanted to be at the mercy of another man again, not after the riots and the Hound accosting her in her bedchamber the night of the Blackwater.</p><p>“And what if I cannot reach my blade?” Sansa could hear the tremble in her voice, but she could not help it.</p><p>“Then you spit in their eye and either grab your blade while they are distracted or use your nails to claw at them. Then you run. You run and you scream and I will come to your aid, this I promise you.” Theon said it as though it was the simplest thing in the world, and Sansa supposed that for him it was. </p><p>He had not been trained to please from before he could walk, he had not been told that he should try and please anyone who came towards him with ill intent. </p><p>And how simply he promised to protect her! How simple it seemed to be to him! And yet, Sansa felt almost like she could believe him.</p><p>There was almost a tentative trust forming between the two of them, and it scared Sansa. She shouldn’t be trusting him already. </p><p>She looked at the blade once more, a symbol of their marriage, and of Theon’s culture. A symbol just as important to him as the marriage spoon had been to her.</p><p>“Thank you.” She said again. “I help I never need to use this lesson.”</p><p>“I hope you do not either, Sansa.” Theon said, before pouring himself a glass of wine and perching in a chair.</p><p>Sansa turned the blade over in her hand once more, “I do wish sometimes that my family had taught me this…” </p><p>She trailed off, the thought of what ifs too unbearable to pursue. Besides, she knew that Arya had begged lessons from Robb and Jon and Jory and they had not done her any good, Arya was still dead. </p><p>“Tell me more about your family, my lady.” Theon leaned back in his chair, a glass of wine in his hand. </p><p>Sansa had to be careful about her words, Theon had only defended her so far but she could not trust him. Not when it might benefit him to pass on anything she told him to Tywin Lannister.</p><p>She perched on the chair opposite his, and swallowed heavily, “What is it you wish to know, my lord?”</p><p>Theon smiled at her; a gentle smile, one that invited trust that Sansa could not give, “You have many siblings, surely there is some story you can tell of them? I know just how entertaining sibling’s antics might be and will trade you a story if you so wish.”</p><p>That sounded fair, and harmless enough as well.</p><p>“I have two older brothers.” Sansa said slowly, “Robb and Jon, and they were as thick as thieves growing up, until Jon left to join the Watch.”</p><p>“Forgive me, Sansa, but I thought you only had the one elder brother? It is one of the reasons the Lannisters prize you so highly as a hostage is it not?” Theon took a sip of his wine and peered at her over the rim of his glass.</p><p>“Jon Snow is my half brother. My father sired him during Robert’s Rebellion, but we do not know who his mother is.” Sansa said softly, “He chose to join our Uncle at the Wall, to defend the realm like Starks have done since Brandon the Builder’s time.”</p><p>“Ahh, I probably have bastard half siblings of my own, not that my father would ever claim them beyond the amount required by tradition if they were born of a salt wife.”</p><p>Sansa did not understand the term ‘salt wife’ but Theon always looked so <em> sad </em> when she mentioned something from his home that it was better not to ask. She did not want that sadness to turn to anger after all.</p><p>“Robb and Jon would often get into trouble,” Sansa said instead, a fond smile touching her lips as she recalled the story that Theon had asked for, “They were never cruel with their pranks and jokes, but they had moments where they could be a little mean.”</p><p>Theon nodded along as she spoke, and something pained crossed his face.</p><p>“Winterfell has crypts, where all the Starks are buried, and Jon and Robb thought it would be a good idea to frighten us down there. Robb gathered myself, Arya and Bran and took us down to the crypts to ‘show us something he had found’ and then Jon jumped out at us completely covered in flour so he appeared a ghost.” </p><p>A laugh burst from Theon’s throat, a kind laugh, one that made it even more difficult not to trust him.</p><p>“And what was your reaction?” He asked, a grin gracing his handsome face.</p><p>Sansa folded her hands in her lap and spoke primly, “I screamed and ran away, while Arya kicked them both and yelled at them.”</p><p>“I do believe your sister would get on very well with my own.” Theon shook his head fondly, “Yara once put crabs down the back of Maron’s shirt after he pushed me into the sea. She always did defend me.”</p><p>Sansa knew of the Greyjoy family, knew of the older sons who had died, of the daughter left behind, and the way her father had once said that he might have been the one to have Theon as a hostage. </p><p>She could hardly imagine that her father would have done such a thing, but knew he would have had the king demanded it.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Theon’s little wife had looked surprised when he had kept his word and made an appointment for her to visit a seamstress, a surprise which filled him with anger for it spoke of past promises broken.</p><p>He knew that she did like to sew, that she had made a number of her own dresses and garments, but there was something special about visiting the seamstress. Something decadent about having an outfit made with the only work one having to do to pick the fabrics and decide the cut. </p><p>And he wanted to dress her in a style that stated his claim over her, one which barely resembled the gowns which Joffrey and Cersei had decided were appropriate for her.</p><p>He wanted to banish any influence that the little twat and his mother still held over his wife, or as much as was possible while they were both still hostages of the Lannisters and at the constant mercy of Joffrey’ mercurial moods. </p><p>He accompanied her to the dressmakers on one of the few excursions they were allowed out into the city. Theon knew his little wife had rarely left the Red Keep since her father’s arrest and subsequent execution, and that the few times she had it had been a rather unpleasant experience for her. (And yes, he was counting their marriage among those experiences, for neither of them had wanted it at all.)</p><p>They were joined by a contingent of guards, ostensibly to keep the safe from the disgruntled smallfolk, but actually to keep them from slipping out of the city. Not that Theon would ever try to escape with such an obvious ploy, he had a little more self respect than that. </p><p>Especially not now that any escape attempt would have to take into account his little wife.</p><p>There was wind blowing in off the sea, and if Theon really concentrated he could almost smell the salt above the usual stink of shit that came from too many people living on top of each other. With the breeze and the sun and the almost smile in Sansa’s eyes the day was nearly pleasant, and it certainly seemed like it would be better than most of the days Theon had lived through since he had been torn from his mother’s arms. </p><p>“Lord Greyjoy, Lady Greyjoy” The dressmaker simpered and curtsied to them both as they stepped into her elaborate store, “It is an honour.” </p><p>He doubted it was actually an honour, to serve the two hostages of the Lannisters, but the dressmaker did very well at hiding her distaste. </p><p>“Thank you, Mistress-” Sansa trailed off politely, allowing the dressmaker the chance to introduce herself. </p><p>“Hill, my lady, Lelia Hill.” The dressmaker curtsied once more, her eyes lit up with a smile that contained a hint of mockery. </p><p>Theon felt like cursing, he should have known that he would be sent to a Lannister bastard when he had requested the funds for this venture from Tywin. This likely would not be the enjoyable treat he had planned, not when his little wife shrank away from the glint of those green eyes, but it was one he would persist with nonetheless. </p><p>“Lady Greyjoy here is in need of a number of new gowns,” Theon lifted his nose slightly in the way that he had seen more than half the Lannisters do during his time with them, “Heavier fabrics if you have them, for the winter is drawing in, and cuts and colours suitable for her position as future Lady of the Iron Islands and as an Heir to Winterfell.” </p><p>She was a princess, his little wife, her brother a King, and he would have her dressed as one, not in gowns that solidified her standing among the court as a hostage. It had been a lesson that Theon had learnt quickly, that to dress as the others did, to appear to blend in put him under less scrutiny than when he had clung to the leathers his mother had dressed him in. </p><p>“Of course, my lord.” Mistress Hill peered up at him under her eyelashes, “Would you like to choose the materials yourself? Or would you prefer myself and my girls make the choice?”</p><p>Even if Theon had not seen the prick of hope in Sansa’s eyes he still would have made the choice he did. He knew that she had received far too few choices these past years, and he was loath to take another from her.</p><p>“Lady Greyjoy will choose.” He commanded, “I trust her eye and to know which colours suit her best.”</p><p>“As you say my lord.” A tight smile was aimed his way, “If you would step through this way, then we can get started.”</p><p>She led them into a large, bright room, with a screen in one corner, plush chairs near a fireplace, and a pedestal in the centre of the floor.</p><p>“Would you like a glass of wine?” Mistress Hill fluttered around, herding them gently towards the chairs.</p><p>“That would be appreciated, yes.” Theon said, offering a comforting look to Sansa, “Tea for Lady Greyjoy though, if you have it.”</p><p>He knew that it would spark rumours, that many would take it as a sign that Theon’s pretty little wife was with child; but Theon did not care. Sansa did not like wine, it was something she only drank when she was made to or trying to dull the experience of something. </p><p>Sansa’s eyes filled with a grateful light, and Theon wanted to scream, for such a thing as simple as remembering her preferences should not have made her look so thankful and awed. </p><p>“Of course.” Mistress Hill bobbed her head, “I will have those brought right away, would you care to look through the sample book?”</p><p>She handed them a heavy book, bound in a scarlet leather, and filled with samples of fabric and examples of patterns to allow them to browse the options available. </p><p>Sansa’s hand trailed wistfully over a scrap of heavy slate velvet, and yet Theon knew she would not choose it. She had passed over every one of her family’s colours, even the reds and blues of her mother’s House. She had instead stopped at dusky purples, the same shades he had never seen her out of. </p><p>“You can choose whichever colours you wish.” Theon insisted in a low voice, “I promise no harm will come to you if you choose your own colours.”</p><p>The look Sansa sent him was dubious at the very least. She did not believe him, and in truth Theon did not blame her for he had not yet proven that he would keep his word.</p><p>Well, he had not raped her thus keeping the promise that he had made her on their wedding night, but he hardly thought that counted. It was what any decent man would do after all, for all there appeared to be a shortage of those in Westeros. </p><p>“Have you some idea of the fabrics you would like, my lord?” The dressmaker returned, trailed by a line of girls whose yellow and brown gowns did little to scour the impression of ducklings from Theon’s mind.</p><p>“I have.” Theon stood and held out a hand for Sansa to help her rise, “My Lady has chosen a few colours she likes, and there are one or two for which I hold a fondness. I believe we will defer to your opinion on the best fabric for one or two of the gowns, however there is one fabric which is non negotiable.”</p><p>“Of course, my lord, of course.” The dressmaker simpered, “Perhaps you might show me while Lady Greyjoy is being measured? We can discuss the patterns and any accompanying garments that you wish to purchase at the same time.”</p><p>Theon nodded his agreement, and watched as Sansa was led over to the screen by one of the dressmaker’s ducklings. He was hesitant to let her out of his sight, not when he did not trust that the little twat Joffrey would not try anything again.</p><p>“My lord?” Mistress Hill prodded, snapping his attention back to her.</p><p>“Yes, of course, the fabric I insist upon is the slate grey velvet, perhaps with a trim of dove grey and cream?” Theon opened the book to the sample which had so enamoured Sansa, just to be sure the dressmaker knew exactly the fabric to which he was referring. “As for the others, my wife likes deep purples, the shade and weight of which I leave to your judgement, one with accents of cream and silver, the other with a burnished gold.”</p><p>“Of course, my lord. May I ask what the final dress should be?”</p><p>“Black and gold.” Theon said decisively, “She is Lady Greyjoy after all, and she should own at least one gown in my colours.” </p><p>He might not be able to treat his wife as he should; he might not be able to clasp the Nagga’s eye around her neck, that pearl set in aged gold that had been passed down from the Grey Kings; he might not even be able to introduce her to his family, but he could still dress her as befitted her station.</p><p>That he was using his captor’s gold to do so was merely a bonus.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Sansa could not quite believe the gold that her husband had spent upon her. One dress was expensive enough to have made, but four? She could hardly imagine such a cost.</p><p>She wondered where the money had come from, what Theon had needed to do to be given such a generous amount by Lord Tywin.</p><p>And what she would have to do to repay him.</p><p>Everything came with a price, that was something Sansa had learnt very quickly, and she could hardly imagine what price her husband would demand for such an extravagant gift. He had claimed he would not bed her until she asked him to, but that was surely a fickle promise, one that he would break and tell her it was payment. </p><p>Sansa took a deep breath and centred herself, she would not attempt to deny him if he demanded, not when he had been so kind in other things. Besides, he had given her far longer than Sansa thought she would be allowed, she still could not quite believe that he hadn’t taken her on their wedding night. </p><p> A knock came to her door, and a strange sort of calm came over her. She knew what she would do, and maybe Theon would be gentle with her at least.</p><p>She opened the door and froze at the sight of Ser Meryn Trant, his horrible face leering down at her.</p><p>“His Grace requests your presence in the throne room.” He grinned, “I would suggest that you do as he requests, it might make it easier on you.”</p><p>The calm remained, even in light of his horrible grin. Sansa tilted her chin up, the way her father had as he had faced the headsman.</p><p>“Very well. We must not keep His Grace waiting.”</p><p>She waited for Theon to appear, for him to interject and demand that Ser Meryn stop looking at her like he could see beneath her dress. He had promised to protect her, to cherish her even, and she wanted him to keep that promise, to not betray the trust she had tentatively placed in him the way so many others had since she had arrived in this accursed city.</p><p>The halls passed by too quickly, and far too soon she was before the cursed iron throne, and the bastard who sat upon it.</p><p>“Lady Sansa,” Joffrey called down to her, “Do you know why you are here?”</p><p>Sansa curtsied, “No, Your Grace.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t be surprised really, you don’t know a lot do you?”</p><p>“No, Your Grace.” It was easier just to agree with Joffrey sometimes. And it wasn’t like he was wrong, she did not know much, she was stupid.</p><p>“Your brother, the traitor Robb Stark, has taken even more of the Westerlands. His treason has only grown, Lady Sansa, and it shall not be long before The Crag is liberated from his traitorous grasp.”</p><p>As much as Sansa hated being dragged before Joffrey, she could not help but feel her heart soar at news of Robb, at news that he was alive and well and victorious. She wanted to grin and laugh and dance in celebration of him, but she could not.</p><p>All she could do was sink to the floor and hope Joffrey was in a good mood.</p><p>“What say you, Lady Sansa?” Joffrey sneered down from his throne, “What say you about your traitorous brother?”</p><p>Sansa choked back a sob and bowed her head, “My brother is a traitor, Your Grace. I pray for your victory, not his.”</p><p>Joffrey let out a high laugh, a cruel laugh, “And why do I not believe you? You have traitor’s blood and a traitor’s tongue.”</p><p>The sob burst its way from Sansa’s throat, for she knew what was coming next.</p><p>“Ser Boros, it seems that Lady Sansa is overheated. Relieve her of her clothes.”</p><p>Sansa clutched the material covering her breasts, she did not want them exposed to the whole court. Not when her humiliation was already so great.</p><p>Gauntleted hands took hold of her dress and ripped it up the back, the sound of the material tearing utterly filling the hall. </p><p>“Ser Boros.” Joffrey called again, “Ser Boros, help Lady Sansa lose some of her traitorous blood, perhaps this time it might be replaced by loyal blood.”</p><p>Sansa shivered beneath the gazes of the court, shivered as they looked at her with expressions ranging from apathy to enjoyment to lust.</p><p>She was a Stark of Winterfell, she would be brave. She would not give them the enjoyment of seeing her weep and wail.</p><p>
  <em> Thwap! </em>
</p><p>The flat of a blade landed against her bare back. It’s cold metal biting and cutting into the already scarred expanse of skin.</p><p>She bit her lip, not wanting a scream to burst forth on the first blow. Not when that would give Joffrey so much enjoyment.</p><p>
  <em> Thwap! </em>
</p><p>The blade hit again, and this time she could feel as blood welled up from the cut that was torn into her skin. It trickled, warm and wet down her back, and she knew that would be more to join it.</p><p>
  <em> Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! </em>
</p><p>Tears welled up in her eyes as the blows continued. They were tears of pain, and of betrayal as well, for she had hoped that her husband might step in and save her from such beatings.</p><p>She knew better now though. Theon either could not or would not protect her, and she was a stupid little girl for ever hoping otherwise. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The spoon Sansa gives Theon is inspired by Welsh Love Spoons (which are beautiful, you should definitely look them up!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Orders</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You disappoint me.” Tywin finally deigned to look up at Theon from his desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lord?” Theon had long ago learnt it was safest to remain polite and not make assumptions about why he had been dragged before Tywin Lannister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had got himself into trouble before, confessing to a wrongdoing that Tywin had not known about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You disappoint me. I raised you. I gave you accommodations greater than was expected of me to provide. I did not take your head when your father saw fit to crown himself again.” Tywin locked his eyes with Theon’s, “And I even gave you a wife. A young wife. A beautiful wife. A Tully raised wife. One who would know and complete  her duty. And yet you still have not bedded her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon swallowed heavily but said nothing. He didn’t want to give Tywin any more ammunition to use against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why have you not bedded Sansa Stark yet, Theon?” Tywin leaned forwards with the same intense look in his eyes that Theon had always pictured him wearing as he destroyed Castamere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He refused to look away and show weakness, “Because she was scared and had no desire for my touch, and I will not rape my wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You green boy.” Tywin scoffed, “Of course she was scared, she’s a bloody maiden. They all are! You get it over with the first time, make sure she feels good enough that she won’t complaint about doing it again, and then you can seduce her properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If she does not want my touch then it is still rape.” Theon knew his morals were all confused, that the lessons his family had taught him warred with the lessons he had learnt in the Westerlands, but this was something he knew to be true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tywin slammed a hand against his desk, “You have a choice, Greyjoy. A simple one, and one I shall simplify even further so you cannot misunderstand me. You can bed Sansa Stark or your head can join your good-father’s atop the city walls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon swallowed heavily, a lump in his throat that made him want nothing more than to run as far from Tywin Lannister’s cold green eyes as he possibly could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand, my lord.” He said instead, his voice ringing in his ears like it had come from some great distance, “I will not disappoint you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” Tywin leant back in his chair, “And don’t look like you are already on your way to your execution. You’ve been courting your wife, have you not? Buying her those gowns and seeing to her comfort; take a flagon of wine and some sweet meats and she’ll gladly fall into bed with you.” He let out a cruel laugh, “Hells, tell her of my promise, and remind her that if you die she will be married to my son. That should open her legs if nothing else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon wanted to be sick. The thought of coercing his wife; his sweet, slightly broken wife into allowing him to take her maidenhead was abhorrent to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But so too was the thought of leaving her defenceless once again, of leaving her to the mercy of the Court and the Lannisters once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have one week, Theon. The Maester and a Septa shall investigate Sansa Stark at the end of it. I hope for your sake that you have fulfilled your duty by then.” Tywin said in obvious dismissal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon left Tywin’s office, his head whirling with the orders he had just been given. He barely paid attention to the suspiciously empty halls he traversed, more pleased that he would not be dragged into conversation than wondering why they were empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least until he returned to his chambers. His empty chambers. Ones completely devoid of Sansa, despite that she should by all rights be there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His blood ran cold, there was only one person who could summon Sansa now and demand her attention. Only one person in the whole stinking Red Keep who would dare to summon her without having first sent an invitation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She might have been in the Godswood, that thought did occur to him, but she always left him a note when she did. And besides, it was outside of her usual times for prayer, his little wife was a lover of routines Theon had quickly found. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew she was not in her chamber, the one she rarely used, for the hearth was cold and the candles unlit in their main chamber, and Sansa was meticulous about ensuring they never went out while she was present. A holdover, he assumed, from growing up in the icy North.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon was resistant to the thought of leaving their chambers again, he just knew that he would be found again by one of the Lannisters, and tormented for their entertainment. It was craven, perhaps, but he had survived this far only through self preservation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the reason he had agreed to Lord Tywin’s demands, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He called for the hearth to be lit and settled down to wait for his little wife to return, he was sure she would not be too long. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whole world was numb around Sansa. Even the pain from her back was dulled by the apathy that filled her veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had trusted Theon, had trusted his promise that he would protect her like the stupid little girl she was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had left her to Joffrey’s torments, had let her be stripped and beaten in front of the Court, all while he stared into the fire and drank wine if the empty carafe was anything to go by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had been stupid to trust him. She had known that he would disappoint her trust and hopes eventually. She just hadn’t expected that he would leave her to be beaten, not after all his pretty words and gestures about helping her protect herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps she should have. It had seemed too good to be true at the time after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She curtsied to him fully, and fled to her personal chamber to change from her destroyed shift and gown into something that might provide a modicum of modesty. It was an old gown she chose, one where it would not matter too much if she bled through her shift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A deep breath, two, and Sansa let herself sink deeper into the dullness. She let herself rebuild her wall of courtesies, the ones she had not needed within these chambers for such a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were necessary again, and Sansa would not be caught without them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lord Greyjoy was where she had left him, lounging in a chair by the fire with a thoughtful expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Tywin has heard tell of our lack of consummation.” Her husband said with regret in his voice, as he looked up evidently having heard her arrival. “He demands that we rectify this on pain of death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s heart stopped, she knew this had been coming and yet she had not expected his request to be dressed up as an order from Lord Lannister. She thought he might be trying to further justify his demands; but all she could really hear was a buzzing in her ears as though there was a particularly annoying fly around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How would you like me, my lord.” She said dully instead. She had known this day would come, and that it would be utterly useless to fight it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa would have preferred it to be a day where her back wasn’t still dripping blood, a day where she hadn’t been exposed in front of the majority of the Court, but it was not her decision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her Lord Husband ordered and she obeyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Lord Greyjoy looked surprised by her easy acquiescence, “However you feel will be more comfortable for you, perhaps on your back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa bit back a grunt of pain that wished to escape as she thought of her wounds pressing against the bed linens, of the scabs that would undoubtedly crack open again and bleed all over the coverlet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She followed him into their shared bedchamber and slowly, dully she started to disrobe. Uncaring of Lord Greyjoy’s eyes upon her and with no thought for her modesty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, what use was there for modesty when she had just been stripped and belittled and beaten before the eyes of the Court? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had only just tied the knots that held the laces of her gown closed, and yet her fingers still scrabbled uselessly against them. The apathy seemed to have made her fingers wooden and unsuited to such a delicate task.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like some help, Sansa?” Lord Greyjoy asked with false kindness, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa forced back the tears that wanted to fall. She recalled from their wedding night that her husband would not touch her while she was crying, and it would be wicked of her to manipulate him in such a way. She had agreed to him touching her, to fulfilling her duty, and it would be pathetic to use tears to weasel out of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was a Stark of Winterfell and she would not be accused of shirking a duty because it would cause her pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it pleases you, my lord.” She said softly, unsure what her husband wanted her to choose, and so going with the safest option.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face creased in something akin to disappointment, likely at the lost chance to have an excuse to cause her pain over making the wrong decision. He moved behind her anyway, and started to use his long, slender fingers to unlace her gown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa set her jaw. She was a Stark of Winterfell. She could be brave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands automatically rose to catch her gown once the laces were loosened enough for it to fall from her shoulders, the back gaping open providing a clear view of her shift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sharp breath came from behind her, one which if Sansa did not know better she would call horrified. Sansa did know better though, and she knew it was likely arousal from her Lord Husband at having her so defenceless before her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What- what is this?” He choked out behind her, “What is on your back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa swallowed and deliberately misunderstood, “My shift, my lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, and Sansa could not hold back her flinch. She expected a blow of some kind for her cheek, for now her husband would surely realise that any blow of his would be masked by the discipline she received from the king. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sansa-” Lord Greyjoy broke off and gently placed a hand on her elbow. “Sansa, why is there blood soaking through the back of your shift? Are you hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was a stupid question, Sansa thought, but she did not let herself voice such a thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not enough to keep me from fulfilling my duty, my lord.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did not understand the pained noise that came from behind her, perhaps her husband had a weaker stomach than most men? Perhaps the sight of blood made him feel queasy in a way that had never affected Sansa’s father and brothers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your duty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa raised her chin and stared straight ahead, allowing a hint of the thick accent of her father into her voice to lend her strength. “Aye, my lord. My duty. I am still capable of performing it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waited for the blow, for the displeased snort or disparaging comment about her home and family. She waited to be told that she was a stupid girl, and that her accent only made her sound stupider. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa had her mother’s blood, her father’s blood, she could be brave. She would not cower before her husband. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he looked at the blood soaked shift of his wife an undeniable truth hit Theon like a bag of rocks to the face: Somehow Theon had lost Sansa’s trust in him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to know where he had gone wrong, </span>
  <em>
    <span>when </span>
  </em>
  <span>he had gone wrong, but he had a sinking suspicion that he already knew the answer. He had seen how her face had been closed off when she had entered their chambers. He had noticed how she had entered wearing one gown and had emerged from her private chamber wearing a different gown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something had happened to her between breaking their fast that morning and her return to their chambers after his meeting with Lord Tywin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something bad had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon had heard tales of Lady Sansa being summoned before the Court and being beaten for her brother’s victories, but had dismissed them as mere rumours. It would have been a foolish move of the King’s, to treat his betrothed in such a way, a way which broadcast his cruelty to the realm. And not just for those reasons, anyone with a lick of common sense surely knew that if word reached the Northern armies of their Princess’ humiliation they would fight even harder to liberate her from her captors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surely even if the king had not thought of such a thing Cersei would have, surely even </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tywin </span>
  </em>
  <span>would have put a stop to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet the evidence was before him that proved these tales were more than fiction. And he had just asked his wife if she would consummate their marriage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon was going to be sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blood slowly bloomed before his eyes, spreading further and further across the white linen, like some sort of gruesome flower. Bile rose in his throat, and to his everlasting shame Theon had to rush to the chamber pot to empty the contents of his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His little wife turned to watch him with a dull expression, no light in her beautiful blue eyes. Theon wanted to wrap her up in a hug, to kiss her forehead and promise her that she would never be hurt again, and yet he knew such an action would not be welcome. His little wife no longer held the trust for him that they had started to build together, her heart no longer trusted him and Theon did not think his own heart could take it if she flinched from him once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lord?” Her voice contained the same flat tone she had used when she had talked about her ‘duty’. “Are you quite well, my lord?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon spat once more, the sour taste of bile still filled his mouth and mixed with the acrid remains of the wine he had drunk. It was almost enough to make him vomit again, almost enough to make him spend the rest of the evening clutching the chamber pot and groaning pitifully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he could not do such a thing, could not have his little wife be worrying over his own health and well-being when she had been so cruelly used and abused by the little twat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon sat up and wiped his mouth with his hand, uncaring of the spittle that dampened his sleeve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sansa, my lady, I feel it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> who should be asking you that question.” He tried to reach out to her, but she flinched away again, a brief expression of fear crossing her face. “I apologise for my earlier request, it was wrong of me to not ascertain your health and well-being before asking such an uncomfortable favour of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprise flitted across her delicate face, as though no one had apologised to her before. And, with a sinking heart Theon realised that they probably had not, not since she had lost her father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, my lady, my sweet Sansa, allow me to care for you, not only in apology but because it is my own duty to you.” Theon tried to smile, “I promised to cherish and protect you, and it is a promise I intend to keep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa nodded hesitantly, granting Theon permission and he sprang into action. He called for a bath for Sansa, a warm one that could be brought to her private chamber so that she might soak her undoubtedly tense muscles and wash the dried blood from around her wounds. The wounds themself Theon could dress if his sweet wife allowed him, he knew enough battlefield medicine and remembered enough of his mother’s lessons that they would have no need for the Maester. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gently unpeeled the shift from her back, refusing to look anywhere but the auburn waterfall of her hair and the vicious wounds which marred her perfect skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will never touch you unless you desire it, my lady.” He promised gently, as the maids hurried to fill a bath for her, “No matter the threats sent my way by the Lannisters I will not rape you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His wife trembled softly, but there was a sort of hesitant gratefulness on her features when she turned back to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, my lord.” She curtsied again and fled to the bath, undoubtedly relieved to be away from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon looked at the blood still staining his hands, looked at the pale face of his wife. He looked at the white linens of their bed, the linens as yet untouched by his wife’s maiden blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thought started to emerge in his head, the very inklings of a plan started to take root. A plan which might buy them a little time, valuable time which Theon could use to plot an escape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brushed a hand across the white linen, leaving a smear of red where his wife usually lay. A red blossom, a bloom of blood that might just serve to save both of their lives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as he gazed upon that spot of red, and heard the gentle splashing of his wife in the bath, a smile touched Theon’s lips and a strange warmth bloomed in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was similar to the warmth he had last felt looking upon his mother as a child; and yet it was different, more protective and almost, almost like the warmth that was talked of in the songs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was just wistful thinking, wasn’t it? </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy New Year Everyone! Let’s hope 2021 is a kinder year to us all</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Either Tywin Lannister had fallen for Theon’s ruse with the blood on the sheets or he had gained a hint of compassion after news of Sansa’s beating travelled the court and (rightfully) decided that Theon would not fuck his wife while she was so injured, no matter the threats levied at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter which one was true, they had been granted a reprieve of sorts, when Sansa was not summoned to the Maester’s for the threatened inspection of her maidenhead. It was a reprieve that would only really grant them a moon turn, for as long as it took for it to become obvious that Sansa was not yet with child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone knew that her mother had become pregnant on her wedding night, and most expected that famed fertility to have been passed onto Sansa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made Theon uncomfortable to think of in truth, he had never really had a chance to live and did not feel ready for a child at all, nor did he want to bring a child into an environment dominated by the cruelty of the Lannisters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one of the many reasons he was working to secure their escape from Kings Landing and the gilded prison they were kept in. but he could not escape alone, for such a thing he needed allies, allies who hated the Lannisters just as much as he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your sister will need allies, Ser Loras.” Theon said, with a smile he knew did not reach his eyes, “She will need support from the other kingdoms, and perhaps even someone to speak kindly of her, should your decision to support the Lannisters fail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ser Loras pulled the same expression back at Theon, his voice filled with a false friendliness, “And the disgraced heir to a few rocks in the sea? The disgraced wife of said heir, the sister of a pretender? You truly believe that you are the allies my sister should be courting?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon bared his teeth at Ser Loras, looking like the sigil his brave little wife defiantly stitched inside the bodices of her gowns, “The Heir to a Great House far older than your own, and one of the Heirs to the largest tracts of land in Westeros, the sister of a king who has more claim to his throne than the last pretender you supported did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ser Loras let out a growl and his hand flew to the blade on his hip, as though he was ready to disregard all propriety and draw live steel in the Princess’ Gardens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Loras!” Lady Margaery Tyrell’s sharp voice snapped across the gardens with an anger and sharpness that belied her petite stature, “You are making a fool of yourself, dear brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ser Loras grimaced and turned to his sister. “But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But nothing.” Lady Margaery placed her hands on her hips, “Leave the discussions about politics and allies to myself and grandmother, and do not allow anyone to get under your skin about Renly. You know this, dear brother, and it is only your anger making you think otherwise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Knight of the Flowers gave his sister a look of anger, but it was a strangely friendly look of anger. It was the sort that Theon could almost remember between his brothers, or the sort of expression Yara aimed at him, if he stretched his mind back very far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” Ser Loras huffed, taking his hand away from his sword hilt, “I shall not be far, sweet sister, if you have need of me just shout.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave Theon a dirty look as he stormed off, as though he was sure Theon would do something to Lady Margaery if left unattended. As though Theon would be so stupid to do anything to the King’s betrothed, even if he had the desire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Theon.” Lady Margaery bobbed a curtesy that was barely polite, and Theon bowed back just as shallowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Margaery, how good to speak to you, to someone with something in their head other than </span>
  <em>
    <span>swordplay</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Theon let his tongue linger over the final word, so that Margaery would understand his true meaning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tales of Lord Renly and his floral knight had been the source of great amusement for Tywin’s household in the Rock since rumours started floating around about them. Lady Genna in particular had enjoyed gossiping about affairs within the court, and she had always had a victim to listen to her tongue wagging in Theon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a slight tightening of the gentle smile on Lady Margaery’s face, but that was the only sign that his barb against her brother had been recognised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must admit I was pleasantly surprised by how </span>
  <em>
    <span>gentle </span>
  </em>
  <span>you appear to be,” Lady Margaery said in a voice as sweet as poison, “Not at all like I was led to believe your people are. But then-” She let out a high, tinkling, false laugh, “I suppose you have spent enough time away from them that even the cruelest reaver would become civilised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took every ounce of Theon’s slowly dwindling self restraint not to spit or swear at the Lady for the insult she offered him and his people. It was an insult that not many would dare bring against him, one that was uncivilised even by the standards of the court, both for the easy nature of it and the casual insult it offered to the Lannisters for their raising of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The knowledge that Theon might very well stab anyone who implied he was less than a man, less than an Ironborn, for such circumstances that were behind his control. Well, that certainly helped as well.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Margaery was brave, in her own way, Theon would give her that. But still, he did not particularly like the Tyrell family, and anyone who would insult his family or his little wife in particular.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I had heard that the False Queen to the False King Renly, and the Future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was supposed to be as lovely as the springtime and a witty conversationalist, so I suppose we have both been disappointed here.” Theon felt himself using the lessons that Cersei had unwitting taught him to find Lady Margaery’s weaknesses and prey upon them like a lion, “But then again, I suppose you won’t be the Queen of Seven Kingdoms, seeing as at least three are in open rebellion against the crown with others looking likely to join.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bolt of smug joy filled him at the insult that flashed briefly upon Lady Margaery’s features. It was not often that one got a leg over someone related to the Queen of Thorns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it you want, Lord Greyjoy?” She asked finally, a hint of weariness to her voice as if she had tired of the insults upon discovering she was evenly matched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Sansa, whom I distinctly recall you calling a dear friend and telling her that you would like her to be happy, is isolated at the moment from the rest of the court. She has very few allies, and those who once professed to be her friends abandoned her once she was no longer useful to their plans.” Theon aimed a heavy look at Lady Margaery for that, unwilling to let on quite how much such an abandonment had obviously hurt Sansa, even while she tried to hide it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And because you are such a kind husband you wish to rectify this loneliness in your wife?” Lady Margaery asked with a forced lightness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon leaned forwards slightly, so that his next words would be more difficult to hear for any eavesdroppers nearby, “What I wish, Lady Margaery, is for you to not make a terrible mistake by alienating someone who could be an ally to you in the future. My wife’s brother is running a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>successful campaign in the Riverlands and West at the moment, a campaign of victories mapped in scars on my wife’s back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To her credit, the Lady did turn white with horror at that, and let out a shocked gasp as though such a thing was almost unbelievable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just think, my lady, of how a brother so protective he went to war for his sisters would react to such a thing, and then tell me again that you do not want Sansa Stark’s favour even as a contingency plan.” Theon finished calmly, his voice as low as it could be, for while he was not speaking true treason it was still inadvisable to speak of King Robb’s campaign with any sort of positivity in Joffrey Baratheon’s court.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Margaery’s eyes darted to the side, and she wetted her lips nervously, “I shall think on what you have said, Lord Greyjoy, and perhaps - perhaps an invitation to tea in the gardens shall be delivered to your wife later this week. Now that she has settled into her marriage of course, she will have time for such engagements again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon smiled thinly, “Of course. Farewell, Lady Margaery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bowed shallowly again and turned and left. He stalked away through the gardens, giving no outward impression of his internal celebration. As much as he despised the Tyrells they were still a useful ally to have against the Lannisters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was not until he reached one of the high red battlements that he stopped, gazing over the cesspit of a  city that was his prison. It did not matter overmuch if they had allies if he could not come up with some way to escape Kings Landing, for even the Tyrells would be unable to curb Joffrey’s cruelty when it was aimed at Sansa. No they had to escape to the Iron Islands or to Sansa’s brother, the only question was how?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then a sight caught his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was not an unusual sight, women in less than decent clothing entering and leaving the Red Keep at all hours of the day and night. The giggling women passed the guards with no attention paid to them past a cursory leer at their exposed breasts or a jeer if they were particularly bold in their dress. Otherwise though, there was less attention paid to them than there was to the urchins that watched the gates with a hunger for food or coin or the sort of love denied to them by the loss of their parents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An idea started to spark in Theon’s mind, one that his little wife would probably find disgraceful, but one that might just work if he had aid enough. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was unmistakable, but Sansa’s husband was acting strangely. He was making plans of some kind, that much was obvious to Sansa, as he kept bringing strange acquisitions to their chambers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One day it was a large leather bag big enough to hold a full set of armour if need be, the next it was dried meat, or waterskins, or new stockings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Sansa did not know better she would say he was planning a trip of some kind, but neither of them were allowed very far from the Red Keep at all, with Theon only allowed to actually venture into the city because he had been a hostage so long and they obviously thought any hope of escape long beaten out of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, it made no sense for Theon to be planning a journey - not unless…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unless he was planning an escape. But that was ridiculous, an escape would be almost impossible for the two of them, especially since Joffrey kept such a close eye on her so that he could torment her whenever he wished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa was never going to escape the torment of Kings Landing, she was never going to see her family again. She was never going to have her mother wrap her in a hug again. She was never going to have Robb ruffle her hair, or Arya begrudgingly hug her, or Bran ask her to read him the stories they both loved again. Rickon might not even remember her anymore, or if he did it would be as a faded memory, not the sharp clarity with which she remembered him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then again, there might very well be a more mundane reason for his strange actions, one that he was actually admitting to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My Lady,” Theon bowed formally over her hand, “I do not wish to cause you any undue distress, but I was wondering if you would mind terribly if I visited a certain establishment this evening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa forced her lips into a polite smile, “Of course not, my lord. What time should I expect you back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was not stupid enough to think that her protests would do anything to stop him from visiting a house of ill repute, that he would just pretend to accept them and then go anyway. She supposed that at least her husband had the decency not to bring a whore into the bed they shared. That was more than many husbands did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It will not be until late, I am afraid.” Her husband affected a disappointed expression, “You should not wait up for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa swallowed down the scathing retort she wished to give to him, she was still terrified that her husband might take out his anger on her if she defied him. Her back still ached from the beating that Joffrey had ordered her to receive, the scabs still cracked open on occasion spotting her chemises with blood. She did not think that she could take any more pain, and did not care if that made her seem weak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, surely it was better if she knew where her husband was, surely it was better that he was open with her, rather than secretive with his illicit liaisons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon bowed again over her hand, and left without even a backwards glance, it was painful to be sure, but then, Sansa was almost used to pain by this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat by the fire, her sewing in her lap, staring at the flames with a sort of detachment that might worry her if she was feeling more normal but that only actually served to wrap her in a warming numbness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My Lady?” A knock on the door had her rising automatically, tensing in preparation for the pain that was sure to come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only a maid though, one followed by a few pages carrying a large wooden chest between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This arrived for you, my lady. I was instructed to bring it straight up to you.” The maid curtsied again, with the sly smile of one of the spies for the Queen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa ignored it though, she was doing nothing that would bring the queen any anger, instead Cersei Lannister would likely be quite happy to hear that Sansa was alone, her husband dishonouring her in a whore house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ordered the pages to place the chest down on the table by her and dismissed them all curtly. She did not want them to report her reactions to the gowns inside to her captors. She desperately wanted a hint of privacy in her life, no matter how thin the veneer that gave it to her really was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they had left Sansa lifted the lid of the chest, revealing gossamer thin muslin and a scattering of dried lavender buds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hint of slate grey velvet shone through the muslin that the gowns had been packed in, and Sansa bit back a cry of joy. She had so longed for the fabric when she saw it in the dressmakers’ shop, but had never thought she would be allowed it. It allowed her far too much pride in her blood and family to have been let anywhere near her wardrobe by the Queen Regent and Joffrey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet Theon had ordered it for her. Her husband had seen her longing for the fabric and had ordered her a gown made in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The strangest urge overtook Sansa, one she had never felt before and yet one she could instantly recognise. It was the sort of urge that she knew her own mother had had when seeing father, the sort of urge that was sung about in the songs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the urge to kiss her husband. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, it was not a kiss that she thought he might wish for. Not when he had only tried to consummate their marriage after being ordered to do so by Lord Tywin Lannister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not when he was out visiting a whorehouse at that very moment; preferring the company of whores to his own wife. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa bit back a noise of frustration, and hurt, and anger, and instead held her head high. She was the blood of Winterfell and would not be belittled or made to feel small by her own husband in their own chambers. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sansa refused to cower before the titters and comments that followed her around the Red Keep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her husband slept with whores, that was true, but every whore he slept with was a day she went without being bedded. And Sansa could not help but feel absurdly grateful for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa had her pride though, no matter how much her husband might try to humiliate her. She would present a front of being happy with her husband, for otherwise such a show of weakness would be pounced upon by the Tyrells and Lannisters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easy to be proud when she wore one of her new gowns. Not the grey one, for Sansa was not quite brave enough to wear it just yet, nor the black and gold one, for that was being saved for Joffrey’s wedding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, she wore one of her purple gowns, the one trimmed in cream. It was modestly cut, while still being just as in style as the daring gowns worn by Lady Margaery. In fact, the cut reminded Sansa somewhat of the gowns her mother had favoured, and there was definitely something of the Riverlands in the flowing vines that made up its decoration. For all that the dressmaker had almost certainly been a Lannister, there was still a kindness in how she had made and designed  the gowns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It certainly aided her in keeping her back straight and her head held high as she approached the gaggle of giggling ladies that made up Margaery Tyrell’s entourage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had been sent an invitation for tea with the future Queen. It was the sort of invitation that Sansa had not received since she had been married to Theon. Part of her wondered why exactly they finally deigned to speak to her, and part of her already knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, she had spied Theon exchanging heated words with Ser Loras.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The page boy who had brought the invitation led her to a pavilion within the gardens, one surrounded by pots of roses and artfully crumbling statues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Greyjoy.” Lady Olenna peered up at her through eyes that saw too much. “How is married life treating you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa inclined her head as she sat down on one of the delicate chairs, “Quite well. My husband is kind, and sees to my comfort.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kind? An Ironborn?” Lady Olenna let out a rasping laugh, “I would say that was Lord Lannister’s influence but I do not believe my heart could cope with the laughter such a statement would bring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other ladies tittered politely, hiding smirks behind tea cups or gently wagging fans. Sansa did not see what was so funny about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Theon is far kinder than most I have met in the Red Keep.” Sansa’s smile showed just a hint of teeth, “He seems to have a truer understanding of chivalry than some.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let her eyes slide to those guards garbed in the Lannister or Tyrell sigil, so that there could be little misunderstanding of her words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat of silence, and then the rasping laughter started up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had thought you another vapid dull little thing,” Lady Olenna said, “But it seems as though there are teeth hiding behind that pretty face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully Sansa picked up the green tea cup before her and took a sip of the steaming, over sweet liquid. Just as carefully she placed the cup back down on its saucer with a clink, and it was only then that she responded to the Tyrell Matriarch’s thinly veiled insult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just as Lady Margaery is a rose, Lady Olenna, so I am a wolf. And even the most tamed wolf still has its claws and teeth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite so, wouldn’t you agree Granny?” Lady Margaery interjected in a voice as sweet as honey before her grandmother could say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Olenna scoffed, but she did not say anything, content for the moment to let her granddaughter speak in her place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must say you look lovely in that dress, is it new?” Lady Margaery’s eyes sparkled with </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “It’s very flattering on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Sansa chose to see the compliment in her words, “It was a gift from Lord Theon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A gift from Tywin Lannister you mean.” Lady Olenna muttered, “As it was his gold I am sure that paid for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa very deliberately folded her hands in her lap, “It may have been Lannister gold that purchased it, seeing as it is rather difficult to come by familial gold when one is a hostage, but my gown was chosen by my husband. He has a real eye for colour.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held Lady Olenna’s gaze, and dared the lady to look away first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” The Lady sniffed, “I suppose that man needed at least one talent. Other than whoring around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For all the insult stung, the crudeness of it was in itself a victory. Sansa had managed to ruffle Lady Olenna’s feathers, a feat which few could claim, even if she was unsure as to how she had done it. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would be a New Moon that night; making it perfect for their departure. Their pursuers  would have a far harder time following them under just star light without the moon’s aid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the best chance they would have. For all that Theon would love to have a moon or so more to plan and prepare, the longer he waited the greater the chance of his preparations being discovered. And the more chance there was of Tywin wishing to examine Sansa’s maidenhead to discern whether his orders had been carried out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they had not, and Theon was in no mood to lose his head for such disobedience, it really was better that they left as soon as was feasibly possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had supplies enough to get them to the Riverlands, and he hoped that would be enough. He had heard that Robb Stark’s armies had returned to the Riverlands, that they had left the Westerlands after pillaging more than half of them. Theon’s father was pillaging the other half, a show of vengeance for the son he had lost but never cared enough about to try and get back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they were lucky it would not be long before they ran into Robb Stark’s army, for surely the mere act of returning their princess untouched would be enough to spare his life. If not, well, Theon would have done one thing worthwhile with his life, in returning his sweet broken wife to her family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had dried meat, and hard tack, water skins and a pot with which to make the water drinkable. Spare stockings and bandages, and a small pot of salve used upon blisters that he had filched from the training grounds. His bow and quiver would have to come with them, along with oilskin cloaks, and he would pack the slate grey gown for Sansa as well. That way, if they did succeed and reached the Stark encampment, she would look the part of their princess rather than some vagabond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a small back set aside as well, so that Sansa could fill it with whichever of her belongings she so desired. He knew she would have some, things that had come from home with her, or that had memories attacked, that she would not be able to bear to part with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew this because he had done the same. He had packed the spoon Sansa had carved him, and the remains of the cloak that his mother had sent him away in. Cloak pins and his slim collection of jewellery was packed as well, for they might have need of the coin it would offer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa was out at a tea party, the Tyrells having finally paid attention to her position as more than just a hostage. Undoubtedly she would come back quietly simmering with the sort of rage that only Olenna Tyrell could induce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tea party left him enough time to go through with the final stages of his plan. The stages that were perhaps the most important, for they were the stages that would actually allow them to leave the cesspit of a city that was King's Landing. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first hints of dusk were appearing over the horizon when Sansa finally returned to the chambers she shared with her husband. For all that the tea had not dragged on overlong, Sansa had found the need to wander the Keep and gardens for a while longer, to try and calm herself before returning to rooms she knew would be cold and empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Expect they were not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sansa pushed back the door she was shocked to see a fire burning merrily in the hearth, and candles lit within their stands. The scent of a rich stew filled the air, and her gaze caught on the sight of a bowl with steam wafting from it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re home!” Theon stood from his favoured chair with a look of relief, “I was beginning to worry that something might have happened to you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His concern was touching, and also strange. Lately Sansa had been lucky if Theon had spoken a whole sentence to her, let alone whether he had noticed where she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was walking.” Sansa said shortly, removing the pin from her hair that had been bothering her for the last couple of hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Theon’s face fell at her frosty response, “Have you eaten dinner yet? Only, I thought we could share a meal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa was ready to shoot his suggestion down when her traitorous stomach let out a loud rumble. It was loud enough that her husband heard it, if the sudden amusement on his face was anything to go by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shall take that as a no.” He said dryly, “Come, sit down and I shall serve you. I have good news that will be best heard upon a full and contented stomach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa dipped her spoon into the bowl of rich broth that Theon had set before her, and began to eat at his urging. She was glad to do so, for the stew was full of flavour, and it’s warmth chased away the evening’s chill that had settled into her limbs over the duration of her walk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wondered who Theon had had to bribe to get such an offering, for the chunks of meat were larger than was usual in someone so lowly as a hostage’s fare. It was more akin to the food which she had been served as the Hand’s daughter, or those first weeks as the King’s betrothed before Joffrey had shown his true colours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More likely though was that Tywin Lannister was looking closely upon them again, and with his gaze came the sudden increase in good treatment from servants too scared to risk angering him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was worrying, if it was true that Tywin Lannister was looking more closely upon them, for it would mean that he would surely be taking a far closer interest in her moon blood and maidenhead again. And for all that their marriage was not like one in the songs, for all that Sansa did not (yet) love her husband, she did not want to see his head upon a spike for failing to do his duty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ate in silence, the only sounds were the soft noises of their spoons against their bowls. It was peaceful, companionable. The sort of moment that Sansa could not help but savour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was over too soon, and with it came an unwelcome surprise emerging from Theon’s bedchamber. A woman, with red hair artfully curling over her shoulders, kohl lining her eyes, and a gown that left little to the imagination. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lady.” The woman curtsied deeply, a Northern accent ringing her words, “It is good to see that you are so well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Sansa said, courteous as ever even if she was speaking to a whore that her husband fucked, “Are- are you perchance of Northern origin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman flushed slightly, “I am, my lady. I’m Ros, and I used to work in Wintertown. I- I remember your birth, my lady, Lord Stark ordered the bells to be rung for a whole day and night to celebrate it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the briefest of moments Sansa allowed herself to believe that this ‘Ros’ was telling the truth, that she truly was a Northerner, that she was there at Theon’s behest. And then reality crashed down, it was not unknown that Sansa’s father had honoured her birth in such a way, not was it overly difficult for a skilled liar to fake an accent. Ros was like as not a spy, sent by Cersei, or Tywin, or even Littlefinger, and Sansa would not fall for a false face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your words are kind.” Sansa said instead, noncommittal and polite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theon did not seem to recognise how stilted and uncomfortable the conversation was, for he beamed at the two of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent. Ros, might I trouble you to help Lady Sansa change into the gown that is laid upon the bed? I have one or two things left to sort before we can go to the next stage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next stage? Sansa’s husband was not making any sense- unless- unless he had brought Ros here to school her in ways to please him. Unless he thought that introducing Sansa to a whore who looked like her would quicken her willingness to bed him, whether through jealousy or feelings of inadequacy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter his reasoning though, Sansa still had to do as he directed. She could not forget that while thus far her husband had been kind to her, that could still change at any moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dutifully followed the whore through to Sansa’s own bedchamber, and it was upon seeing the garment laid out for her that she had to resist the urge to curse and cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She should have known what awaited her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gown of bright blue, that seemed to be made of less material than Sansa’s chemise. It was beaded heavily, in designs obviously meant to draw the eye to exposed skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the sort of gown that Sansa’s mother would have fainted had the notion of her daughter wearing one ever come to her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I help you with your laces, my lady?” Ros asked, her touch and tone surprisingly hesitant, “Only, we don’t have much time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa nodded her acquiescence and let herself be disrobed. She was not sure what the rush was, unless it was that Theon had only paid Ros for a limited amount of her time, but she had no urge to drag this out. Undoubtedly she would be dressed in the blue gown whether she wanted to or not, and if her wedding dress had taught her anything, it was that it was far easier to just go along with the whims and will of those more powerful than she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ros helped her step out of the purple gown that had given her such strength -and even her chemise and stays!- and then into the scrap of blue fabric. The blue dress had far fewer ties to contend with, more like a robe than a gown in truth. It was strange to wear something that touched her skin without the barrier of the majority of her undergarments, it left her feeling all exposed and uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ros stepped back once the gown was on, and regarded Sansa with a critical eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some greasepaint, I think, to make you look a little less a lady. And loose hair, we can always tie it up again afterwards.” It was as Ros spoke that Sansa realised the similarities between what they were wearing. The main difference, it seemed, was the easy confidence and Grace with which Ros wore the revealing garb, as opposed to the way Sansa could feel her shoulders curled in on themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afterwards?” Sansa refused to be ashamed by the way her voice cracked on the word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afterwards.” Theon confirmed, suddenly standing in the door to her chamber, “When we are in the city itself. We will have a brief time in which we can change into something more appropriate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words made no sense, nor did the small leather bag he held out to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More appropriate? More appropriate for what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” Theon grinned rakishly, a grin that made Sansa’s traitorous heart flip in her chest, “More appropriate for leaving this city and these damned lions behind us. More appropriate for the trek we shall embark upon to find your kingly brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words rang in Sansa’s ears, words which she could hardly believe had been spoken out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And her heart began to beat with a new surety, for it began to beat with the strength of hope.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p><p>Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse</p></blockquote></div></div>
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